


The Warden's Sacrifice

by Bowm8935



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: The Calling, Warden Carver, Wardens, not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7540072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/Bowm8935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden!Carver didn't escape the Calling as Garrett hoped. Instead, he's in the Western Approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warden's Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to break writer's block with a little ficlet.

The song drove him mad.

Carver Hawke was traveling across Fereldon, trying to trace the steps he knew his Warden Commander had taken. They had originally been heading to Orlais to meet with another band of Wardens to investigate some strange happenings when the word had come of what was unfolding around his brother, and he had told his Commander that he was leaving and to sod off if he had any problems with it. After all, anyone who had a problem with his brother had a problem with him. Alistair had simply laughed quietly, shaking his head, and told him to return as soon as he could. It had taken longer than he intended, as he had stayed with his brother to ensure his safety (and that of his _homicidal mage_ ) until he was satisfied. Now, they were tucked away in a pocket of Thedas where no one would find them easily, and it was time to follow his Commander’s orders.

That was what he was aiming to do now.

But the song was distracting, a pain. He could barely focus on anything else.

Ten years he had been a Warden, a _decade_ devoted to their cause. He had been told he had thirty or so years after his Joining before he’d receive his Calling- yet here it was, plain as day, circulating through his head, driving him _sodding insane._

Coughing at the dryness in his throat, he trudged along wearily, determined to reach his destination. He wouldn’t stop until he was with his unit again.

 

~*~

“Where is the Commander?”

Carver was confused at the scene around him. He had found most of the Wardens from his group, yet there was one key person missing: Alistair. He listened as Nathaniel told him of the unexpected betrayal of their leader, nodding along with a neutral face as he worked to keep his turbulent emotions hidden. He wasn’t sure that he believed what he was being told; Alistair had never struck him as a selfish man. Surely if he felt the need to disobey orders from the Warden Commander of Orlais- and then flee- there was a good reason behind it. He trusted Alistair with his life, as little as that may mean.

But now he was here, and he was stuck. He would wait and judge the events for himself; if he decided the situation was too dire, he could abandon the order as well and set out to find the man he would have followed to the arse-end of Thedas. So he followed as Nathaniel led him to the Warden Commander Clarel, eager to hear what the fuss was about.

 

~*~

Ruddy blood magic. Of course that’s what the plan was. Wardens as a whole may not have a policy against it, but Carver had seen enough of it in his short time in Kirkwall to know it was not to be taken lightly.

As far as what the Commander was asking- well, that was surely madness.

He was in the Western Approach with a smaller group of Wardens, none that he knew well. They were camped out at an old Tevinter ritual tower, awaiting none other than a sodding magister. From Tevinter. Fucking fantastic.

There was plenty of time yet before the magister was set to arrive and his watch was now over, so he went down the stairs into the tower proper to take a nap. They had marched long and hard to get here in a timely manner, and now that he had some free time he intended to catch up on some sleep. He felt the need to be well-rested when that bastard of a mage made his appearance.

_Fucking blood magic._

~*~

 

Carver woke suddenly to the sound of startled shouts above him. Clambering out of bed, he threw on his armor, heading outside as he used the palms of his hands to wipe the remaining sleep from his eyes. As he approached the top of the stairs, he slowed down, blinking slowly to try to take in what he was seeing. There was a line of Warden mages along the right side of the courtyard, and each had a _sodding demon_ next to them. He unsheathed his sword in surprise, charging forward to dispel the threat, before a silken voice called out to him, entreating him to calm down. He slowed to a leisurely pace, placing his sword back in his scabbard as his memory reminded him that the plan was having a demon army to defeat the darkspawn once and for all.

So if this was all going according to plan, what had the shouting been about?

“Warden Lieutenant, would you kindly come to me? Since you are now present, you will be the next to complete the ritual.” The dark-haired magister with the mousy face- Erimond, if he recalled correctly- beckoned to him, and Carver grudgingly trod toward him, looking around him to try to figure out what _exactly_ was happening. As he approached the dais the man was on, he noticed that he was surrounded by dead bodies. _Bodies of his fellow Wardens._

He skidded to a halt, eyes widening in horror as understanding dawned on him. He reached for his sword again only to find a firm hand grasping his arm, and he whirled to find one of the mages holding onto him. “Get the _fuck_ off me!” He shouted, ripping out of the man’s grip and backing up. He turned his head toward the magister who was now slowly approaching him. “This is wrong! _Blood magic is wrong!”_

Erimond laughed, a low, evil thing. “Don’t you remember your vows?” He snarled, walking toward Carver. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…”

A sharp pain blossomed in Carver’s side as he felt a dagger slip under his plate and between his ribs. He had let his guard down, distracted by Erimond. He looked back at the mage, who uttered a brief apology under his breath as he twisted the blade, completing the killing blow.

“Sacrifice.”

Carver fell to the ground, shaking as his blood poured from the wound. “You… will not… win…” he coughed out, feeling venom that had been on the blade snaking through his veins. “The Wardens…will… stop…you…”

Erimond snickered and turned away. “Summon the demon and bind it like I showed you as soon as he’s dead,” he said, casually strolling back up the small set of stairs.

Shuddering, Carver collapsed fully, breath coming in shallow pants. He felt his eyes drift close- he was on death’s doorstep now. But before he passed into the Fade completely, he swore he heard a familiar voice.

“Carver! No!”

As his breathing slowed, he whispered, “I’m sorry, brother.”

His body stilled as he felt the sweet release from the song.


End file.
